away from expectations
by kurojiri
Summary: Like how life was usually described by the majority, it didn't go as planned.


**Written for lj/dw/ tumblr event from HP Coffeehouse Monthly prompts. **

**June's Prompt: ****Staying up all night**

* * *

It started out as a whim. Draco had been needing more than the tea that his mother had packed for him before he left to his new job. It hadn't been like he didn't love the sweet flavors or the softness they made his magic feel afterwards; it was just that he needed a pick-me-up that coffee always gave him. A powerful caffeine trip that Weasley was able to provide when he noticed that Draco was waning off during their breaks.

That had been an interesting combination in his life. Working with another Weasley, but one that had been the very definition of what he pictured what Gryffindors would do outside Hogwarts. Taming, studying and overall, protecting such creatures like dragons.

Yes.

Dragons. Tall, fire-breathing, very incredibly dangerous creatures. Why would Draco Malfoy of all people would start working at a dragon enclosure in Romania someone would ask? Simple, the ministry over there hadn't cared too much about his business or the war. They just liked how high his scores had been for healing and potions. (The number of retired workers had also flexed that Draco would be a great asset for their enclosure given that he knew how to properly use all the equipment and ingredients without them fearing that he would waste all their materials and funding.) He had been thoroughly trained for that position as a means to get out of England in general for a position that didn't scam him out his pay for reparation that the war caused.

And if that meant that he had to work alongside a Weasley that didn't look disgusted by him, who actually had been very decent with him, then who was he to deny his life in Romania?

It had been a whiplash in the beginning with people—a lot of strangers that glanced at his last name and not spit on him. There had been many neutral parties that understood his age, his name and why the war had happened.

Were there was still a minority that didn't like him? Of course. But they had also loved to pretend he didn't exist and didn't jinx him either. He had called that a win. He needed all the kinder parts of what reality could afford him when he had been doing his best to send as much money to help his mother where she stayed in France. Most of their British roots had taken a downward spill, as their assets had barely placed them in a zone where they had to be careful about future investments.

Although they had been lucky. Some families that were heavily based on the British soil had ended worse than them. He knew some of them, and they had left long ago before the mobs could get to them. Draco, had been in the middle where he left as soon as he was able for his education after the trials concluded. When his mother was safe in France, and he could breathe momentarily in peace.

In those months turned into two years, he had met the inspiration of overcoming his fear of fire, while also going as far as he could in Europe to find a calling for himself. The dragon enclosure had ended up being that place. Where he could walk there, to feel himself herding a lock of courage when he interacted with his coworkers. Namely, Charlie Weasley. Their friendship had been a core extension when he stayed up from a breakthrough when he tweaked a potion. Or when he helped organize report logs from the various peers, he could bring himself to tolerate (then tentatively befriend).

When he had found a niche there, it became quite clear that the coffee shop closest by the dragon enclosure had been the perfect place for Weasley to entrap him. The first cup had been divine. Had been the very taste that woke every cell of his body.

(He had ignored the smug grin of Weasley's when he finished the drink in record time.)

After that cup, Draco had requested for Weasley to take him to the shop after their shifts. The road had seen better days for muggle's standards, but for many magical folks, the dirt patches had such a wild—very welcoming allure. Like what all the forests he ever stepped into before had in common, where the magic was at its purest form. The buzzing of insects and the silence of a semi empty road prickled at his ears. The aged wooden door opened to an old-fashioned shop. Its style did not come to Draco's former likes, but the warmth of it all had been inclusive for anyone that needed to unwind.

By the counter, there was one man.

His curly black hair was messy, his blue eyes were piercing as if he could read Draco's thoughts, but had been polite enough to never dig deep. He had a growing beard that made him rugged and cheekbones that had made Draco himself jealous. Besides his outward appearance, Draco hadn't felt any malice coming from the man. And that, that had been a nice feeling to have after being stuck outdoors for half the day when he had been collecting samples for some of the potions, he would need to make next week. Their first conversation had a mixture in the tone. Where Draco felt like he had been speaking to a man far older than he appeared.

As if the barista had a knack of talking and understanding the older generations or old souls better. Not completely unfair for the first couple of assumptions, but then, Draco had softened up a bit for calmer conversations that he could appreciate them when they shared that together. Especially when Weasley had that type of air of himself to build fires into his stories that children tended to flash when their excitement knew no bounds. But it all fit perfectly as they all chatted. With Draco drinking up the details every time he visited since then.

The shop had seen better days, with the wood being aged and the frames of photos lining up in the walls. He could tell that it had seen a lot of history when he sat down on the love seats or chairs by the tables. Yet, that had been why he kept coming back, in part of the coffee that enabled him to stay awake during long hours. Whether in early mornings where he gathered most of the usual ingredients or in late nights when he needed to do certain time-based potions. The coffee had been cataloged with the perfect hours for the wizarding world that thrived in the location, seeing that most of the muggles left in hurry to their homes or temporary lodgings that were a couple hours away.

By the third month since he had walked into the coffee shop, he had acquired a table where he liked to work on his paperwork. Where the sun rays didn't hinder the parchment coloring and the ink pens he used when writing. The view of the tall green trees and mountains weren't bad either when compared to the open skies. It had reminded him of the times he got lost at the beauty of how remote Hogwarts felt when he had strolled where the black lake had been. The rest of the customers had also the same unspoken rules of maintaining hushed conversations and the barista (who he later learned was actually the owner), would come around the shop to talk to anybody that seek a second ear. Like a friend that remembered when someone gained a promotion or had family visiting. A living and breathing home to go back to when the rest of the world was harsher.

It had become a place that Weasley and himself went to in daily trips, given that Draco always wanted to rest in a place that didn't leave him in a stuffy mess. Merlin (and Draco really spat his coffee when he told him his name) had been an addition to his Romanian chapter in his life that he didn't know he needed. His quips had the same fondness Draco used to hear when he had been younger in Hogwarts, his blue eyes (still so bright and mysterious) covered for his limitless expressions when he laughed. Half the time it felt like Draco gained another uncle figure in his life. What with him calling him out whenever Draco felt comfortable to display any of his old 'git-like retorts' when his posh background came up.

Not that he missed how Merlin's smile gave Draco the impression that he had been missing someone that had similar backstory of being born in a high-class society.

He didn't know when it came to finding himself sleeping at the coffee shop as a normal side effect, but knowing his coffee intake and Merlin's hospitality and growing friendship, a second bed had been prearranged whenever Draco had to stay up all night.

Because when Draco thought about where he once started after Hogwarts, he couldn't bring himself to care where he worked and who importantly were now inside his circle of friends. Not when he started to smile genuinely again.


End file.
